Five Times the Team Visited Ward in Prison
by DrawnToDarkness
Summary: Five times the team visited Ward in prison... Post-series one. There is no character hate/bashing in this story.


Happy belated birthday, N!

**Five Times the Team Visited Ward in Prison**

* * *

_The First Time – Antoine Triplett_

* * *

He wasn't expecting any visitors. Not anymore.

The interrogation was over. He'd told them everything he knew about Hydra – what little of it there was – and everything he knew about Garrett's plans – the few bits his mentor had trusted him with.

And by told them, he'd had to write it down.

Painstakingly.

With hands that had trembled as the weight of what he'd done bore down on him.

His voice box was slowly healing but speaking was still painful. He didn't speak much these days anyway; only when he was spoken to and that was a rarity.

Especially now.

The guards seemed to look on him more with pity than with anger, which made him wonder how much of his past had become common knowledge.

It didn't sit comfortably with him. Not at all.

He'd never been one to talk about himself and he hated the thought that other people now were, exchanging stories they'd heard about him, sharing gossip in whispers about what someone had overheard discussed in the hallways of the newly established SHIELD prison.

None of them would know the full story, anyway, and it wasn't something Ward was willing to share.

Not with anyone.

He didn't want their pity. Didn't deserve it.

Didn't deserve the pitying, almost sympathetic, expressions on the guard's faces in the morning after a particularly restless night of nightmares that had him waking up to inhumane screams he belatedly realised were his own.

He wasn't expecting any visitors, so the day the guards came to collect him and take him to the visitor's rooms, Grant Ward was surprised to say the least.

He was even more surprised when the door opened after he'd been secured to the table with heavy duty handcuffs and revealed his visitor to be none other than Agent Antoine Triplett.

Trip.

Someone he hadn't known as well as the others but a man he'd felt a certain kinship with.

To a degree.

John Garrett had been Trip's SO, too. The only difference was that Trip came from a long line of SHIELD Agents, people who'd established in him long ago the differences between right and wrong.

People who would've seen, would've noticed, if he'd fallen under Garrett's spell the way Ward had so easily done.

Ward stayed silent as Trip took the seat opposite him. Was it a trick? He wondered. Some sort of test to make sure he'd told them everything he knew?

"How you doing?" Trip asked after the silence had stretched on far longer than was comfortable.

Ward didn't answer.

"That's a stupid question, right?" Trip shrugged and leaned back in his chair in a gesture that was far too casual. He looked relaxed, like he was visiting an old friend in their living room rather than sitting on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in a SHIELD detention centre. "I know you're wondering why I'm here. The truth is, I'm not sure myself. I've been going over and over everything I saw and heard when I was with John and I don't like the things I've remembered. The things I was blind to."

Ward shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the conversation but doing his best not to show it. If he ignored Trip, maybe the other man would go away.

Leave him to his solitude, to this hell of his own making.

"I knew him, too. I know what he was like." Trip's brow furrowed, his dark eyes troubled as he recalled something, a memory he wasn't willing to share but one that obviously didn't sit right with him in hindsight. "Oh, he'd never raise a hand to me because if he did, I'd raise hell about it, and he knew there'd be plenty of people in my corner if I did, but you… There was no one there for you, was there? No one to see what he did to you, no one to turn to when those doubts started creeping into your mind."

It was the pity that did it, the attempt at sympathy that caused Ward's stomach to roll. "I don't want your sympathy."

"That's not up to you. But then nothing's been up to you, has it?" Trip paused as though waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table between them. "Why aren't you angry, Ward? Why don't you hate him? Why don't you hate me for taking your place on the team, with the only decent people you've ever known? Why aren't you angry with May and Coulson for beating you up, treating you like shit, when they should've realised what was going on? Garrett was their friend, too, you know. He served at their side long before either of us had ever met him. Surely you're angry because they missed all the signs, because they let him do this to you?"

"They didn't let him do anything. I did."

"So you're blaming yourself? Because that's what you do, isn't it? With Garrett, with your brothers. It's all your fault so you deserve everything you get. You deserve FitzSimmons to be angry with you-"

"I tried to kill them." The words were hoarse, and not just because of his still healing throat.

"If you'd wanted them dead, they would be." Trip sighed when Ward said nothing. "The pod was supposed to float. They know that. You know that. If it had, neither of them would've had more than a few bumps and bruises."

"But Fitz –"

"Fitz is gonna be fine. It was touch and go for a while, and some things won't ever be the same for him but he's gonna be fine. To be honest, if there's anyone I'm worried about, it's Skye."

"Skye?" It was almost unnoticeable, but Trip noticed Ward sit up a little in his chair. His shoulders, which he'd allowed to slump in relief that Fitz was going to be okay, immediately tensed again. "What's wrong with Skye?"

The corners of Trip's mouth twitched but he didn't smile, not completely. "She's having a hard time of it is all. Can't seem to get her head around everything. What you did, why you did it. Why no one picked up on it and stepped in before it got this far."

Ward didn't know what to say so settled for saying nothing.

It seemed enough to satisfy Trip, though, as the other man nodded before getting up from his seat.

Trip knocked on the door and waited for the guards to return to let him out.

* * *

_The Second Time – Melinda May  
_

* * *

It was weeks later when Ward was taken back to the visitor's room.

The guard who accompanied him didn't say a word but shot him a look that was almost apologetic, leaving Ward to believe he was in trouble – and to wonder what he'd done wrong.

As far as he was aware, he'd been the model prisoner. He did was he was told, only spoke when he was spoken to, didn't cause trouble – and in fact, when a fight had broken out between some of the other inmates, Ward had stepped in to stop it.

He didn't want any trouble; he'd had enough of it in his life.

He'd resigned himself to having his world narrowed down to the four grey walls of his cell and he was surprisingly okay with that. At least if he was behind the heavy duty steel doors, he couldn't hurt or be hurt.

Or so he thought.

He felt the first twinges of panic when he reached the visitors room and found it already occupied.

By May.

He looked at the guard, almost as if for help, but the man avoided his gaze and slowly let the door close behind him with a metallic clang that echoed around the quiet room.

Ward stood, wondering why he hadn't been chained to the table, his back to the wall.

"You can sit down," May told him mildly but, as she remained standing, he continue to stand himself. "Or not." She stared at him, her dark eyes seeing far too much and giving nothing away. When she spoke again, her voice was solemn and quiet but was still somehow loud enough in the otherwise silent room to make him flinch. "I'm sorry."

It took him a moment to process what she'd said. "What? Why?"

May sighed, her expression flickering from studiously blank to pained for a split second before she was able to get it under control again. "When you were first brought here. Our actions were inappropriate."

"You were doing your job." God knows he'd done worse during interrogations, for both SHIELD and Garrett, the latter under the guise of Hydra.

"It was personal." May's jaw clenched after she made the confession. Ward watched her, equal parts curious and confused. "You betrayed the team. They – we – thought you were one of us. You turned out to be the enemy and I was angry at myself for not realising it."

Ward hung his head. "You should be angry at me, not yourself," he told her quietly, guilt seeping into his voice. His throat hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was from talking or because of the emotions he felt clawing their way up inside of him. "I'm the traitor."

"But you're not," her outburst caused him to look up in surprise. "You were never SHIELD," she continued, not missing the way he flinched at the almost accusatory comment, "you've been Garrett's puppet since you were a kid and none of us picked up on that. None of us knew about him and we _should_ have. _We_ should have known."

"I…" He started to speak but stopped himself. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said eventually.

"I don't want you to say anything." May appeared frustrated – and conflicted. "I want to hate you," she told him honestly, and he winced again. "I want to, but I can't. Because I've read your file. All of it. Not just the parts Fury deemed necessary for me to read before I picked you for this team. And it sickens me."

He hung his head again, shame causing nausea to burn at the back of his throat. "I'm sorry."

"For what? What are you apologising for?" Her eyes narrowed almost angrily. "You're sorry you had the poor luck to be born to a horrible family? You're sorry John Garrett found you and manipulated you, brainwashed you into being a weapon he could exploit?"

"I'm sorry I betrayed the team." He was, genuinely. If he could go back in time and change it, he would. He'd grab his other self by the shoulders, shake him and try to make him realise just how little John Garrett actually cared for him – and how much he truly stood to lose by trying to repay a debt he was beginning to doubt he actually owed.

She didn't say anything for a long time, forcing him to look at her. The expression on her face, sympathetic and concerned, only lasted a second but that was long enough for it to make an impression on him.

Long enough for him to wonder what he'd done to deserve what _looked_ like compassion from a woman who prided herself on being able to keep her distance.

"The doctor's say you'll make a full recovery," May said after a while, and Ward got the impression she was talking more for her own benefit than for his. "You'll regain full use of your vocal cords and it'll stop hurting when you speak." Something akin to guilt, pained guilt, flashed in her eyes. She turned abruptly, heading to the door. After she'd knocked on it to signal to the guards that she was ready to leave, she spoke again, her voice quiet. "Robbing a victim of abuse of his or her voice is not something I'm comfortable with having done. I hope someday you'll forgive me for it."

She was gone before he could ask her what she meant, and it wasn't until much later, lying alone in his cell that he realised he was the abuse victim she'd referred to.

* * *

_The Third Time – FitzSimmons  
_

* * *

Three days after May's visit, a therapist turned up at his door, along with orders from _Director_ Coulson to do what he was told.

So he did.

He talked, slowly and quietly, his voice getting stronger with every session.

He talked about his brothers, his sister. His parents. He talked about the only happiness in his childhood coming from short-lived visits to his grandmother's house, talked about the good times when his older brother wasn't around.

And then he talked about the bad times.

He talked about his younger brother and the well and the beatings that he had to dole out to save his younger siblings from worse treatment from their older brother.

He talked about the day it'd all gone to hell, the day his life had changed.

He talked about finding out what Maynard had done in his absence, about the anger and frustration and shame he'd felt – shame at not being there to protect his younger siblings from the monster that was their older brother.

He talked about the day John Garrett had "saved" him and was forced to re-evaluate the belief he'd carried his entire adult life: that by doing so, the man had rescued him from the hell he'd found himself living and had given him a second chance.

Some second chance it'd been, Ward was able to realise.

He talked about Buddy, about his time in the wilderness learning how to survive. The therapist had been shocked by that, leading him to wonder that maybe not everything was in the file May had mentioned reading.

He talked about being recruited for Hydra, though he'd known all along that Garrett's faction of the organisation had an ulterior motive and didn't care about the main goals of the group who'd almost destroyed SHIELD. Hydra had been a front for them, a convenient way John could get the power and control he craved but would never achieve within SHIELD's ranks as well as a way to save his life.

It'd been that thought that had motivated Ward; saving Garrett's life.

John Garrett had been mentor, friend, father-figure.

It was only after talking to the therapist in their very many, very long sessions that Ward realised that the relationship they'd had was very one-way; that John had used him as much as anyone else in his life ever had.

He was part of the means to an end that Garrett had sought; it wasn't personal.

Not for John Garrett.

It was Ward's turn to feel betrayed and used; his turn to feel hurt and angry at the way he'd been treated.

Only by Garrett, though. No matter how the therapist phrased it, he couldn't bring himself to feel anger towards the agents who'd made up the team who'd somehow had the potential to become his family... if only he hadn't screwed it up.

* * *

He had no doubt, when the guards came to collect him, that his therapist was the reason he was once again being taken to the visitor's room. Though their sessions were primarily held in his cell, it wasn't entirely unheard of for them to take place in a different location – "a change in scenery can help" – so he when he walked into the room and saw not the therapist but two people he thought he'd never see again waiting for him he was shocked.

And instantly nervous.

He expected their hate, their anger.

He didn't expect Simmons to give him a small, nervous smile before she helped Fitz to his feet.

Nor did he expect Fitz to hold out his hand.

Or for the scientist, who needed help to stand, had enough strength in him to pull Ward into an embrace when he cautiously accepted said hand.

And then Simmons joined in, and the way they both spoke at once, their words tumbling over each other, was so painfully familiar that he felt tears burn his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

The words spilled out of his mouth just as surely as the tears ran down his cheeks.

He wondered, belatedly, why the guards hadn't come in to separate them – he wasn't supposed to have physical contact with his visitors – but no one did. He wasn't sure who was holding who up, just that he didn't want to let go or be let go of.

So many things were said, though Ward couldn't remember exactly what as he was led back to his cell sometime later.

All he could remember was the way they'd held onto him, two people he'd sworn he'd protect but whom he'd ultimately failed, and how they'd told him it was okay, that they forgave him for all he'd done.

Compassion was something he hadn't experienced before the team had come into his life. It wasn't something he'd ever been shown or something he'd thought he needed.

Forgiveness was something he'd told himself he wouldn't ask for, something he told himself he didn't deserve.

He'd never expected to be given it without asking.

He lay on the bed in his cell and stared up at the ceiling. A small smile played across his face as he recalled FitzSimmons promises to come back and visit him soon and something warm and welcome flourished in his chest.

Something that felt strangely like hope.

* * *

_The Fourth Time – Phil Coulson  
_

* * *

FitzSimmons were semi-regular visitors. Trip, too, stopped every so often – sometimes with the science duo and on those visits, Ward was content to watch the interaction between the trio and speculate.

He was expecting them – some variation of them – when he walked into the visitor's room, so froze mid-step when Agent – _Director_ – Coulson was waiting for him instead.

Appearing immaculate as always in another one of his suits, Coulson's neutral expression eased into a small smile Ward hadn't seen outside of his memory in months.

"Take a seat, Agent Ward," Coulson greeted him, motioning him to the chair opposite him.

"I'm not an Agent." He sat down slowly, warily. He hadn't seen Coulson since... Well, since his interrogation had ended.

Coulson stared at him, his gaze assessing. "That remains to be seen." He was silent for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for Ward to say something. "I've spoken to Doctor Laing. She's pleased with your progress."

Ward shifted, a little uncomfortable with the thought of his therapist relaying the content of their conversations back to Coulson although he'd known from the start that she would. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him and stared at his knuckles as they went white.

"May told me she'd been to see you. FitzSimmons and Trip, too." The only person who hadn't been to see him since his incarceration, other than Coulson, went unnamed but they both thought about her in the pause that followed. "Doctor Laing tells me she thinks being in here is holding you back. Halting your progress."

Ward sat up straighter in his chair, his spine stiffening. His gaze lifted from his hands and he stared at Coulson through panicked eyes. "No. N-no, I'm fine. It's fine. I belong here. I deserve this."

"You don't belong here, Ward." Coulson's tone was soft, almost tired sounding. The man looked older, Ward realised, wearier than he had done even at the height of their fruitless search for the so-called "Clairvoyant". "You didn't belong behind bars when you were a kid and you don't belong behind them now you're an adult."

"I killed people," Ward started to argue.

Coulson snorted. "Name one SHIELD Specialist who hasn't."

"But I killed SHIELD Agents," Ward continued. "I killed Agent Hand. I shot her. I –"

"I know what you did," Coulson interrupted, and it was only because he looked pained that Ward stopped. "I know you've killed, both for SHIELD and against it. I know you've been following Garrett's orders since you were a kid, since before you'd even joined the agency. Your loyalty was always to him rather than Hydra and I understand that. I don't want to, but I do. But Garrett has gone. He didn't deserve your loyalty in life and he damn well doesn't deserve it in death."

It was Ward's turn to make a derisive sound, his stomach churning as he thought of his former mentor and supposed father-figure. "I know that now. God, believe me, I know that now."

"I do. I do believe you, Ward, and that's why I'm here." Coulson leaned forward in his seat and, perhaps subconsciously, lowered his voice so Ward had to focus wholly on him to hear what he said. "I asked you, almost a year ago, if you knew who you are without John Garrett. I didn't realise then that there's no way you could've answered. So I'm asking you this instead: who do you want to be? Who is Grant Ward?"

His mouth went dry. His palms began to sweat. It was an important question, Ward knew. One he'd asked himself so many times but had never been able to come up with an answer that fit. Until now. He lifted his head and held Coulson's gaze as he answered quietly. "I want to be the man I pretended to be. The one you all thought I was."

Coulson smiled, a genuine smile, and nodded, pleased. "Then that's what you're going to be. It's not going to be easy, it's not going to happen overnight but we can work on it. We'll help you -"

"But... I can't leave." Ward felt a sense of terror at the thought; life was easier here. With his emotional baggage weighing him down and no expectations to live up to, the four walls of his cell had were both his hell and his haven.

It was all he deserved, the best he could ask for.

Coulson sighed but it somehow sounded more sad than frustrated. "You want to be punished, Grant? Fine. This is your punishment." He waited until the younger man looked up at him before continuing. "You're going to be released into my custody, so I can keep a close eye on you. You're going to work for SHIELD, answering directly to me. These are your new orders. You will serve SHIELD. You will use everything you've learned to be the best agent you know how to be. You will be the protector we thought you were, the one you want to be. That doesn't mean you get to deliberately put yourself in the line of fire or take unnecessary risks. It means you do your job and you live long enough to figure out how to be who you truly are. Is that understood?"

Ward hesitated.

"I said, is that understood?" Coulson repeated, his tone the firm, commanding tone Ward was used to hearing.

"Yes, Sir?" He knew he sounded confused but at least he'd been able to answer.

It was enough to satisfy Coulson, at least for now. The SHIELD Director gave him a small nod and got up from his chair. "I'll send someone to get you in two days. Be ready when they come."

Given that he had very few personal affects, Ward knew that physically it wouldn't be hard to be ready to leave. Emotionally, however... "Yes, Sir," he repeated instead of voicing his doubts, telling himself it'd be okay.

Promising himself he wouldn't let Coulson or anyone else on the team down again.

* * *

_The Fifth Time – Skye  
_

* * *

He was as ready as he could be, waiting in his cell for whoever Coulson had ordered to collect him. The guards had told him they'd be here in an hour, so Ward had dressed in the clothes they'd brought him to replace the loose prisoner's uniform he'd been wearing, and had sat down on his bed to wait.

And wait.

The hour passed excruciatingly slowly but when the door swung open to admit his escort... Well, Ward almost wished it'd taken longer.

He wasn't ready for this. He was nowhere near ready for this. He wasn't sure he ever would be ready to face –

"Are you going to stand there all day, robot? Do your batteries need recharging?"

Skye.

Her tone was light, her words teasing. It reminded him of _before _and it shouldn't. It was too dangerous to think of their relationship, so-to-speak, as it once had been.

_Before_.

"Clock's ticking, Ward, and I don't think May's gonna wait for us if we're late." When he didn't move, she moved closer to him. "Hey, you okay? Coulson did tell you I was coming, right?"

"No. Not you." He was proud of himself for being able to speak. "I knew someone was coming but I didn't know... I didn't know it'd be you."

Skye looked a little annoyed for a moment – not at him, Ward was _almost_ sure – but her expression cleared and she looked at him curiously. "Did you think you'd be able to avoid me, Ward? The Bus isn't that big – and your bunk is right next door to mine, so..."

"I still have a bunk?" He was surprised; he'd thought the interrogation room aboard the Bus would be where he spent his nights – and his days, when they weren't on a mission. "What about Trip...?"

An expression he couldn't decipher flittered across her face before she smirked. "You don't want to know about his sleeping arrangements, trust me." She didn't give him much time to dwell on the thought, covering the gap between them and sitting down on the bed next to him before he anticipated her moving. "So. What's the hold up? Coulson said you wanted this."

"I..." Did he? Really? It was one thing having his former teammates – barring Skye – visit him, another to be one of them again, to have to see them every day and live with knowing what he'd done to them, how he'd wronged them out of misplaced loyalty to a mad man who hadn't cared about him at all?

"Ward. It's not supposed to a trick question." Her voice was as gentle as the hand she let rest on his arm.

He looked down, staring at her slender fingers as they curled around his forearm in a reassuring squeeze. "How can you stand to touch me?" He hadn't meant to voice the question and after he had, he wished he could take the words back.

He wasn't sure he wanted the answer. Wasn't sure he could bear her telling him she had to, that she was following Coulson's orders, that she, as a recognised weakness of his, had been singled out as being the best person to bring him back to the team.

"Because I like touching you," Skye said instead. Ward wanted to look up at her but instead found his gaze fixated by her hand, by her fingers slowly moving down his arm to grasp his own. "Because I'm not afraid of you. Because like everyone else, I know what you've been through and I wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me about it. Because," she continued, even after he looked up at her in shock, "because I've missed you. Because it breaks my heart to know what you went through, Grant."

"But everything I've done, everything you've seen me do..." Ward shook his head, unable to understand. "You called me a serial killer. You said I made you sick."

"You did. What you were – what he made you – made me sick. It still does. It makes me sick that no one realised what Garrett was doing, both to you and in the grand scheme of things. It makes me sick to think your parents let a monster abuse you and your younger siblings and did nothing to stop it. It makes me sick that you had to do things you didn't want to do but did because you didn't think there was a way out for you. It makes me sick that you've spent every damn day of your life living under someone else's thumb, following orders like the good soldier you are because you've never been given the chance to find out what else Grant Douglas Ward is capable of being."

She was breathing heavily by the end of her tirade, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. Ward didn't think he'd ever seen her look quite as beautiful.

"This isn't instant forgiveness," Skye continued, a little quieter but no less serious. "This is a second chance, an opportunity for you to earn the right to be who you want to be." She held his gaze, a small smile quirking the corners of her mouth. "Remember when you told me that every agent has a defining moment, a moment when they have to decide whether to fight or hide? This is your defining moment, Agent Grant Ward. This is your chance to decide whether to fight for your future or hide in your past."

His fingers tightened around hers before he even realised it. "I want to fight," he told her, his voice hoarse, his throat aching not from the injury he'd sustained months before but from the tears he was valiantly keeping at bay. "I want to be the person you think I can be."

"Good." Skye's smile was blinding, her eyes shining with a warmth he still wasn't sure he deserved but would do his damndest to earn. "Then what are we waiting for?"

She stood from the bed but didn't relinquish his hand, using it instead to tug him up to his feet. Hand in hand, they walked from the cell that had been his home for almost a year, and towards a future he'd never dreamed he'd have.

* * *

End.


End file.
